There is a certain kind of silence that comes after loss. A silence that is deafening and heavy, yet somehow, the world keeps moving around us as if nothing has changed. But everything has changed.
If you are here—reading this—you probably know that silence well. Maybe you’ve held it in a hospital room that was supposed to be filled with cries but wasn’t. Maybe you’ve carried it home, in an empty space where a cradle should have been. Maybe it lingers in the moments when no one speaks their name, when the world seems to forget what you will never be able to.
We know that silence, too.
And here, in this space, we want you to know—you are not alone in it.
Stillbirth is something that so many experience, yet it is rarely talked about in a way that acknowledges the weight of it. The way it reshapes you. The way it alters time. The way it makes you wonder if healing will ever be possible or if you even want it to be.
But if there is anything we have learned, it is this: grief and love will forever walk hand in hand. Healing does not mean forgetting. Moving forward does not mean leaving them behind. There is no "getting over" a love so deep, but there is learning how to carry it differently.
There is learning that love does not end where life does.
So, if today feels unbearably hard, if the silence is loud, if the world seems to have moved on while you are still standing still—please know that your love, your grief, your child… they all matter.
And you are seen here.
Always.
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